


On Solid Ground

by i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole



Series: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Established Relationship, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming, Sub Tony, Submission, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole/pseuds/i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing leaves Tony quite so vulnerable as uncomplicated affection. Written for prompt #23 of the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge: Rimming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Solid Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Tori Amos' "Sweet the Sting".

          “You are a wondrous thing, Anthony,” Loki whispers, above and behind him, his length hot and enormous and filling him almost more than he can bear. He is on his knees but his legs are shaking, cheek pressed to the mattress, keening at the sensation of his body _burning_ as he is taken—but it is not the pain that undoes him, no, because Tony’s been at this for a long time and he knows how to work through it.

          It’s the praise.

          He shudders and doesn’t respond and then lets out a wail when Loki moves—which he knows isn’t unexpected. Loki _knows_ that Tony’s a vocalizer and can handle a lot more pain than this, but the god stills anyway, hands tender on the sweat-dampened skin of his back, stroking and shushing and murmuring still more words. Words like _calm now_ and _deep breaths_ , yes, but also other things that Tony does not know how to deal with. Things like _so good_ and _your body grips me as if it was made to do so_ and _so beautiful when you are like this,_ as hands come up to caress the trembling muscles of his shoulders. In response he buries his face in the pillows, and whimpers.

          _Wonderful,_ Loki tells him, _you are wonderful, my clever mortal._

         He cannot seem to stop his shaking, but he nods when Loki asks him if he is well, not trusting himself to speak. And then Loki still _doesn’t move,_ and he makes a high, strung-out sound of distress, emotionally wrought for reasons he doesn’t quite understand but _needing_ that movement back and forth inside him: the reminder that even if he has made perhaps the most egregious error of his life in needing Loki, at least Loki needs him too. “Please, just move,” he whispers in supplication, “Seriously, I’m fine,” hoping that Loki will take his word for it, that he won’t have to produce more words than that, add to the many that have already been released into the air around them.

         And it seems that Loki does get it because he moves in response, rearranging Tony’s insides from within, and the engineer cries out. Rocks his hips back, grinding up against Loki, arching his back like the greedy slut he is for _no-one_ else, needy and wanting; and _this,_ he knows how to handle. Physicality, his cock and his hips and the curve of his spine doing the talking for him—lending an air of deniability to any admissions that he, or his partner, are unwilling to make.

          But Loki _(liesmith)_ , it seems, is unwilling to allow such deniability. “You make me feel,” he whispers and then seems to lose his words, the melody of his voice gone hoarse and rough, “You make me _feel,_ Anthony, when you are like this—when you are writhing beneath me—you drive me to madness,” and he moves, filling Tony utterly, stretching him and then emptying him, then pushing back inside him once more—until there is room for nothing else inside Tony but _him_. Tony clutches at the sheets and wails, shoving his hips back, squirming further onto the length of the god that is taking him, sweat beading on his skin and dripping down his legs.

          He shakes, and shakes, harder than he has ever been in his life, his cock hanging hot and swollen between his legs, so lost that he forgets to close his mouth through his noises and finds saliva trailing out of his mouth onto the sheets. All that is left for him is desire and arousal and the desperate _need_ burning inside him that only Loki can satiate, the need to be penetrated and taken and made into something that is Loki’s, only Loki’s. He needs it, he _needs_ it, and paired with that need and running through his mind is the plaintive longing to himself be found pleasing, to be told that he is worthwhile—and though he can barely anchor _himself_ on the bed as he is fucked, he still clenches down as hard as he can on the cock that is spearing him, whimpering and twisting and rocking back against Loki’s thrusts, and is rewarded with the sound of his lover’s gasps and—more words.

          “So—so good, Anthony, so good— _Anthony—”_ and Loki speaks his name as if it’s some sort of rare delicacy, making Tony jerk and shudder. There are hands on his back, on his hips, encouraging his movements but forcing nothing, and Loki _will_ slap his ass sometimes and he likes that too but there’s none of that tonight—no, Loki is nothing but gentle with him tonight, stroking and caressing, telling him that he is _extraordinary._ Treating him as though he is something to be cherished, because Loki—Loki, he takes care of the things he cares about.

          Loki is fucking him wide open, and he whimpers, but not because of the fucking. Deep down inside he’s not sure he minds the idea of being one of Loki’s _things—_ owned, taken, some little mortal pet whose place is to kneel beside the god’s throne until such a time as he is… needed, and there is something about that thought that terrifies him, makes his hands shake uncontrollably where he’s clinging to the sheets. And it’s not just that—it’s something a lot more fundamental than that which has been making him tremble since the first moment tonight that Loki opened his mouth.

          He shudders.

          Then Loki _stops_ and pulls out. Tony wails in protest, the sound rising in pitch towards the end, craning his neck to try and see what the matter is; but before he has time to get too upset there are hands on his side, urging him to turn over and lie down on his back. He spreads his shaking legs of his own accord, pulling them back towards his chest, earning himself a smile, the soft brush of a hand against his cheek, and a kiss, his divine lover’s breath ghosting over his skin.

          The head of Loki’s cock teases over his hole, spreading beads of moisture and lubricant that has seeped from his body, and he quivers, canting his hips upwards and rolling them to encourage Loki back inside. But instead the god reaches down and brushes his fingers against the puffy, over-sensitized skin, circling Tony’s entrance with his fingertips instead of penetrating him again the way Tony wants him to—and Loki can be like that sometimes, wicked and teasing him endlessly, bringing him to the knife’s edge of orgasm and leaving him hanging there until he goes back down, over and over again, and if the kindness has left him now and that’s what he’s doing Tony can’t handle it right now, he can’t—

          “Please,” he chokes, clutching at Loki’s arms, “Please,” and shakes his head. He’s terrified for a moment that it won’t work, that the god will just smirk and proceed to take him brutally apart no matter how he begs—and even though Loki’s never done that without his consent _before,_ he still feels his heartbeat speeding up in his chest beneath the glow of the reactor.

          But he needn’t have worried. Loki—Loki _gets_ what he’s saying without him even needing to elaborate it, a sheepish look stealing over his face along with faint, suddenly self-conscious laughter. “Oh—no, Anthony—give me a moment. The sight of you—it, er, brings me rather close.” He bends his head to kiss Tony’s neck, just below the juncture where the soft underside of his jaw turns into his throat, chaste and sweet.

          And— _oh,_ well, that’s a bit different from what he was thinking, and the rush of pride that he feels at being the one to make a _god_ have to take a break to avoid coming early is strong and hot and genuine.

          “It was not my intention to frighten you,” he hears Loki say, and opens lust-clouded eyes that he wasn’t aware of closing when he feels the mattress shift to see his lover sitting up between his legs, pressing his hands to Tony’s knees and shifting them further apart. “Here—let me.”

          His first assumption is that he’s going to be fucked again, and then when Loki scoots further down on the bed, lying down on his stomach with his head between Tony’s wide-spread legs, he assumes he’s about to get blown. Either option sounds great to him, and he allows his head to fall back in pleasurable anticipation—

          —But what he _wasn’t_ expecting was to feel strong hands cupping the globes of his ass, supporting his hips and urging them up higher, thumbs digging into his cheeks to keep them spread apart, and then the tickling sensation of long hair brushing against the skin between his legs and the warmth of Loki’s breath ghosting directly over his asshole.

          “Wait—” he gasps, “You’re not seriously—”

          “Unless you truly don't want me to, hush.”

          There’s a soft kiss pressed squarely to one of his buttocks, a nuzzle against the underside of his thigh, and then a wet tongue laves its way up between his cheeks, and then Tony positively _mewls_ as Loki, yes, _licks_ up over the tight pucker, first with the flat of his tongue and then teasing at and between the creases in his skin with the tip _._

          It’s so _wrong_ , especially because it’s _Loki Silvertongue_ engaging in this act, but it feels so good that it makes Tony start to shake again—or perhaps a better term for it this time would be _writhing._ Loki’s hands are strong and firm on his buttocks, holding him up and in place with no leverage to escape the insistent pressure of the god’s tongue as it traces every fold of skin, mapping out a part of his body that he _himself_ has never known this intimately. And to make matters worse—or better—or worse—but _better,_ definitely better—is the fact that Loki has already been fucking him _raw_ not just tonight but these past several days as well, leaving his skin puffy and red and hypersensitive, making him squirm and fuss and whimper.

          Then Loki’s tongue worms its way _inside him_ with an insistent pressure, and he shrieks. Jerks his hands down, slapping at the god’s head with one open palm.

          _“_ Holy fuck— _Loki!_ You _can’t._ ”

          Those green eyes upturn towards him, their edges crinkling as Loki smiles. _Can’t I?_

          And Tony knows, with a certainty that both arouses and _terrifies_ him—even as he goes ahead and acquiesces—that Loki _can_. Loki can do _anything_ he wants if he's going to look at Tony like that. _  
_

          There’s a tingling rush of the sort that tends to herald Loki using magic to slick him up inside, but Tony sort of doesn’t think that there’s going to be any more _slicking up_ necessary tonight. And Loki’s tongue is _wriggling_ inside him, burrowing and twisting in so many ways that a cock _cannot,_ and Tony mewls and shakes so hard he thinks he might fall apart. He’s trying not to grind his hips against Loki’s face—not now—because he’s not sure of proper etiquette for a guy getting rimmed, but he’s pretty sure it’s a bit rude to grind your _ass_ down on someone’s face. But maybe there’s no point because he’s pretty sure he’s helpless anyway, unable to move his hips in Loki’s grip as the sorcerer tilts him upwards, his face firmly buried between Tony’s cheeks, licking him inside and out.

          _Please, please, please._

          He shakes, and shakes, struggling to tangle pitifully weakened fingers in the sheets, searching for some form of stability as he whimpers and falls apart in Loki’s hands, writhing at the mercy of that _merciless_ tongue, pulse racing hot and raw like a molten river in his veins, throbbing frantically beneath the arc reactor jammed into his chest. He _wants_ this, and he wants _more,_ wants Loki to fuck him so hard his hips quit working and his feet splay uselessly when he tries to stand up—and the thought of that sends a bolt of electricity through his limbs. Loki could do _anything_ to him, helpless like this—he could rip the metal keeping Tony alive straight out of his chest, crumple it to ruined scrap before Tony’s horrified eyes and stand there in all his sleek cruelty watching his mortal lover asphyxiate—but he hasn’t. He _won’t,_ and Tony’s pretty sure of that by now—it’s not the fear of looming death that’s been making him shake.

          Loki pulls back, his breath cooling the wetness between Tony’s cheeks, and speaks to him again, his thumbs digging into Tony’s buttocks, spreading them apart. “Your hole is _glistening_ now, Stark—red and open,” and Loki’s voice is, _god,_ husky with his arousal, and then a finger brushes against the puffy skin of his hole as though he’s being _inspected_ and Tony comes with a moan, splattering his load across his own stomach and chest. Lightheaded in the aftershocks, he opens his eyes to see Loki _watching_ him, rapt, pupils blown wide so that hardly any of the green-grey irises can be seen around their edges. Loki’s fingers are trailing carelessly between Tony’s legs now, the touch light and aimless—tracing his perineum, brushing against his softened-hyper-sensitive cock and eliciting a breathless whimper, wandering up across the twitching, sweat-dampened muscles of Tony’s abdomen, smearing Tony’s come into his skin and— _gods—_ bringing a drop up to his own lips to lick it off.

          “I want everything of you,” Loki says into the silence, his weight shifting on the mattress as he bends over Tony’s chest and begins to lick up the streaks of come that’s splashed there, his tongue tracing the planes and curves of Tony’s stomach. “The beat of your heart, the sound of your cries. The brilliance and the chaos—the mind of the mortal who saw not his limitations, and learned to capture star-fire in his flesh—and with the powers he had gained, chose _not_ to raze all who opposed him to the ground.”

          Tony feels his limbs wanting to shake, so instead he grabs at Loki’s shoulders, at his hair, wraps his legs around the small of the god’s back to pull him close. He doesn’t have words of his own, so he buries his face in Loki’s shoulder instead, hiding his face and clinging like his life depends on it—which, considering how close he feels he’s dangling to an emotional precipice, maybe in a sense it does. He feels Loki’s fingers come up to card into his hair, tender and affectionate and loving, and the thickness of the god’s still semi-hard cock pressing into his thigh. He squirms, unable to speak but able to trap that cock against his leg, arching and wriggling against it, feeling it grow hard once more between their bodies, feeling Loki’s breathing hitch and speed up against his ear.

          He’s not going to be able to come again, not for a few hours anyway, but he can still get Loki off—and the thought of the god fucking into him for hours even after he’s come is enough to make his cock twitch again in interest. And—

          “I don’t want you to go,” he whispers, soft and plaintive, the words slipping out before he can stop them like water spilled from a glass. Loki blinks, and he tries to catch himself. “Um. I mean—I—um. I mean—I didn’t—”

          “I’m not going anywhere, Stark,” Loki says, stroking his hair, and there’s a note of concern in his voice that Tony both regrets and is reassured to see he’s put there. He nuzzles at Loki’s shoulder, squirming beneath the god, doing his best to keep the trembling out of his limbs, feeling the sudden, very foreign urge to _cry_ as if he’s a person who gets sentimental during sex.

        “I know,” he mumbles into the side of Loki's arm. There’s a kiss pressed to his temple, a protective arm wrapped around his shoulders. “I promise, I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr as mari-the-mole or happygutters (nsfw).


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